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Pancakes Galore
A ways South by the Rail Road tracks,
Lives hobo Bill, people call him Jack,
He carries a pail to pick up coal,
He shares it with a poor old Soul.
She burns her coal in a cooking stove,
There Green cooked picked by the grove,
Seasoned with a piece of bacon fat,
With a pinch of Salt, good just like that.
Makes corn cakes in a cast Iron Skillet,
Mixes up plenty, doesn't over do it,
Meal brought in from the towns only Mill,
It is around the bend, over the hill,.
Got her milk from the old spotted Goat,
Always tied up to the Fishin' Boat,
The eggs are great if you didn't know,
Laid by the nuisance, Jacks pet Crow.
With corn cakes made and on the platter,
How she made them still don't matter,
What counts is how in the test they tasted,
Looking at empty plates, none wasted.
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